


Key to Survival

by UnabashedBird



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnabashedBird/pseuds/UnabashedBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dawn saves Jessica from Brady. After all the awkward explanations, it's clear that, whatever it is the Winchesters are dealing with, it's Slayer business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Key to Survival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SweetSamOfMine (AudreeJo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreeJo/gifts).



> Obviously the brilliant Dawn Summers would go to Stanford, and obviously, if she and Sam and Jess all exist in the same universe, they should be friends. And obviously Dawn wouldn't let a demon kill one of her friends on her watch. That was the thought process that led to this fic. Well, that and not wanting to do my homework.

“Hey, sorry, I know it’s kinda late, but I’m at my wits end on the lit paper. Do you think—?“

“Oh, _god_ yes. Come over: I’d love the company.”

“Why? Is everything OK?” Dawn asked. She recognized the tone of voice, but she’d never heard Jessica use it before. It was the tone people used when they were worried about someone, worried in a I’m-not-sure-where-they-are-or-what-they’re-doing-and-they-might-be-in-trouble kind of way.

“Yeah. I think so. I don’t know. Sam was supposed to be back by now, but he’s not, and I haven’t heard from him, and he’s got his interview tomorrow, and—“

“OK, picture painted,” Dawn interrupted. “So, how dire are we talking here?”

“I’ve been baking all evening.”

“Where will this madness end? Underclassperson homework crisis to the rescue.”

“Great. See you in a few.”

It took Dawn ten minutes to get to Sam and Jessica’s apartment, but when she got there, something felt . . . off. It wasn’t anything she could explain rationally, which was endlessly frustrating, but if she’d learned anything from being the Slayer’s little sister, it was to never ignore this kind of instinct. She fished the little squirt bottle of salty holy water out of her bag and a small silver knife out of her pocket—between the two, she should be covered for most supernatural contingencies. And if it was something more mundane but still bad, well, still potentially helpful.

She eased the unlocked (bad sign?) apartment door open and edged inside. The living space was empty, but she could hear muffled noises coming from the bedroom, so she crept her way towards its entrance, peering around the doorframe.

Dawn could see Jessica, who was pulling a silky-looking white nightgown over her head. She looked terrified, and there were tears running down her face. Someone, a guy, was standing in the middle of the room, with his back to the door. Jessica had been standing a few feet from the wall, but as soon as she had the nightgown on, she was slammed against it by an invisible force.

Dawn reacted, springing into the room, spraying holy water on the thing, whose skin hissed in reaction. He whirled around, eyes black— _demon_ —and Dawn kept spraying, running around to place herself between the guy— _holy shit it’s that Brady douche they’re friends with!_ —and Jessica, beginning to recite the exorcism. Too late: Brady’s mouth opened wide and a cloud of black smoke poured out, disappearing out the window and into the night. Brady dropped to the floor. Dawn hoped he was just unconscious, but she had a sinking feeling that he was probably dead.

Dawn turned to face Jessica, who had sunk to the floor and was staring at her, wide-eyed.

“What. The _hell_. Just happened,” Jessica managed, voice shaking.

Dawn walked over and sat down next to her, setting her knife and spray bottle down in front of her. “Yeah. So. That was a demon. I take it their existence is news to you?”

“Umm. I mean, I believed in them from, like, a religious perspective, but I never thought . . . Is Brady dead?”

“Probably. Want me to check?”

Before Jessica could respond, they heard the apartment door open. Dawn reclaimed her weapons and was back on her feet in a defensive crouch before they heard Sam’s voice: “Jess? You home?”

Jessica stood up, but Dawn grabbed her arm before she could run to Sam. “Wait,” Dawn hissed, “we should be sure it’s really him.” Jessica looked like she was seconds away from a complete break-down, but she reined herself in, nodded, and stepped back a little to let Dawn take point.

Sam walked into the bedroom, finishing a cookie from the plate in the kitchen, and froze.

“What—?“ was all he got out before Dawn sprayed him in the face.

“Ow! Jeez, Dawn, what—? Did you just spray salt water in my face?” he asked, rubbing furiously at his eyes.

“Better safe than sorry,” she told him.

“So . . . he’s OK?” Jessica asked; Dawn could feel her vibrating with tension even from a few feet away.

“Yeah, he’s OK,” Dawn reassured her.

“Oh thank _God_ ,” Jessica exclaimed, running to Sam and throwing her arms around him. He returned the embrace, but his eyes were darting from Dawn and her spray bottle, to Brady sprawled on the floor, and back again. He looked shocked and scared, but not the same kind of shocked and scared as Jessica. There was a niggling suspicion growing in the back of Dawn’s mind.

She felt Sam and Jessica’s eyes following her as she knelt down and checked for Brady’s pulse. There was none. “He’s dead; the demon must’ve burnt him out,” she told them.

“Demon?!?” Sam exclaimed, shifting his stance so that, even though he was still holding Jessica, there was something protective about it, like he was ready to go on the offensive any second. He looked like—oh, no. No way.

“Sam Winchester, are you a fucking _hunter_?!?” Dawn demanded, pretty sure she knew the answer, as all the things about her friend that had never quite made sense clicked into place.

“I—“

“If someone doesn’t start telling me what’s going on in the next thirty seconds, I won’t be held responsible for my actions,” Jessica interrupted loudly, breaking the tension between Sam and Dawn.

“Do you want to start, or should I?” Dawn asked him.

Sam looked resigned. No, not just resigned: defeated. And like his whole world was crashing down around his ears. On reflection, Dawn supposed that that may well have been exactly what was happening.

“Why don’t you both tell me what the hell happened, and we’ll go from there?” he said, pulling Jessica with him to sit on the edge of their bed.

“Fine with me if it’s fine with Jessica.”

Sam turned towards Jessica. “Jess?” he asked, and there was so much fear and tenderness in his voice that Dawn felt like she was intruding on something private.

Jessica took a deep breath. “Right. Tonight. So, like, fifteen minutes ago Dawn called me to ask for help with that lit paper, and I told her absolutely, I would love company, she should come over, because I missed you and I was kind of worried that you weren’t back yet and I was freaking out a little bit.” She was staring at the floor, head angled just a little towards Sam; he was rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles. She continued, “A few minutes after that, Brady dropped by. Not that weird, ‘cause it’s Brady. I invited him in, gave him a cookie and then . . .” she took another shuddering breath. “Suddenly he wasn’t Brady. He just . . . _shifted_ , and his eyes went black, and he _looked_ at me, and then I was flying backwards until I hit the wall. I couldn’t breathe, it _hurt_ , and he was laughing, saying it was nothing personal but that wouldn’t make it any less fun. And then he reached into his bag and pulled out this—oh _God_ I’m still wearing it!” and she was yanking the nightgown over her head, frantic. Dawn turned away and looked around for whatever Jessica had been wearing before the demon forced her to change; finding the clothes, she walked over and handed them to Jessica, keeping her head down: she didn’t think they were in the seeing-each-other-naked point in their friendship. Dawn found herself wondering if that was higher or lower on the scale than the fighting-off-a-demon-together point, and had to suppress a bubble of semi-hysterical laughter and a _Harry Potter_ reference.

Sam, meanwhile, hadn’t stopped trying to soothe Jessica, “Hey, hey, easy, OK, let me help you with that, I’ve got it, OK, here’s your shirt, there you go, and there’s your shorts, got them OK? OK. I’ve got you, Jess, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” She was leaning into him, arms locked around his waist, face buried in his chest. He had one arm tight around her and was cupping her face with his other hand, thumb skimming her cheek.

She regained control and continued, “So he pulled out the nightgown, told me to put it on, said things that didn’t make any sense, said I had to ‘look just like Mommy.’”

Dawn saw Sam freeze, and then bury his face in Jessica’s neck, muttering what sounded like “Ohgodohgodohgodohgod” while one of her hands came up, as if by reflex, to stroke his hair, and just like that she was the one comforting him.

“Sam? Sam, what is it? Talk to me!” Jessica insisted after a moment, pulling back from him and tilting his face up to make him look at her. Sam blinked, seemed to come back to himself, then reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone. He didn’t take his eyes off Jessica’s face as he made a call.

“Dean? It’s me. You . . . you’d better get back here. Something happened. Or, almost happened. I think it has to do with Mom.” The call ended, Sam put the phone down, and gave Jessica his full attention again. “So, it told you to put the nightgown on. Then what?”

“Sam—“

“I’ll explain in a minute. What happened next?”

“He let me down off the wall, I put the nightgown on, he slammed me back again, and then Dawn was there. She sprayed him with whatever’s in that squirt bottle, it made his skin hiss and smoke, she started to say something that sounded like Latin, a bunch of black smoke came out of Brady’s mouth like the fucking monster from _Lost_ , Brady collapsed, Dawn said it was a demon, and before I could decide whether to pull myself together or completely flip out, you got home, and then everything got even weirder because you’ve been talking like your worldview hasn’t been shattered and I don’t know whether that or the fact that certain mysteries about you are really close to clicking into place is worrying me more right now.”

“OK. Dawn?”

“Came over, mental alarm bells went off before I knocked on the door because this is _so_ not my first rodeo: I learned a long time ago not to ignore that kind of instinct even though it doesn’t make sense, which by the way is fucking infuriating. Anyway, I retrieved the salted holy water and silver knife I always carry from my purse and pocket, because just because I’m not actively involved in fighting right now doesn’t mean I want to get caught unprepared, I mean what kind of a hunter _are_ you anyway? Don’t interrupt!” she added when Sam opened his mouth, probably to protest or explain. “Obviously I proceeded with caution, attacked with holy water because that seemed like the best bet, successfully fended off what turned out to be a demon of the variety that possesses humans, and now here we are,” she finished.

The door banged open, and a guy with short blonde hair and a leather jacket burst into the apartment. Dawn figured from Sam’s non-reaction that this must be the person he’d asked to come over.

“Do you have something against knocking?” Jessica asked, and there was something like venom in her voice.

“Sam asked me to come, I came. It’s not like the door was locked.”

“Unlike Friday night, when it definitely was,” Jessica shot back.

“Didn’t want to wake you up. I’m considerate like that,” Leather Jacket countered with a smirk.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure the word you’re looking for is ‘asshole’,” she told him.

Sam interrupted before things could deteriorate any further. “Dawn, this is my brother, Dean. And yeah, we’re hunters. Or, well, he is. I used to be. Still got the skills, but it’s not a life I want any part of. And Jess,” he said, focusing on her like she was the only person in the world, “when I told you my mom died in a fire, that was only part of the truth.”

“Sammy—“ Dean tried to interrupt, a warning in his voice, but Sam ignored him.

“Something killed her. It . . . it stuck her on the ceiling of my nursery and set her on fire. And . . . she was wearing a white nightgown, wasn’t she?” he finished, directing the question at Dean.

“Yeah, I think so,” Dean said, and he seemed to take in the full scene for the first time: Sam and Jessica huddled together, Dawn with her knife and squirt bottle, Brady’s body and the crumpled nightgown on the floor.

“So . . .” Jessica said slowly, “the . . . _demon_ , which is apparently a real thing and both you and Dawn knew that,” she looked accusingly from one to the other, “knows about your mom. And was going to maybe kill me in the same way.” Her eyes were looking anywhere but the nightgown the demon had made her put on.

“Not maybe,” Sam said, staring at the floor. “I . . . you know how I’ve been having those really bad nightmares this last week?” he asked, glancing at Jessica long enough to see her nod. “They were of you. Burning on the ceiling while I watched and couldn’t do anything about it. I think . . . well, what if they weren’t just dreams? What if . . . god, I don’t even know,” he finished helplessly.

They were quiet. What was there to say? Dawn knew prophetic dreams happened, Jessica was new to the supernatural but would probably accept them, Sam just looked small and frightened. Which Dawn thought was probably because of the thunderstruck expression on Dean’s face: she remembered what it was like to have an older sibling overreact to something like this, and it wasn’t even a little bit fun. Sam, with an effort, broke the silence and changed the subject at the same time.

“So, Dawn, you know what hunters are, and you knew how to take care of a demon, but you’re not a hunter yourself?” he asked.

“Nope. What I am is a long story, most of which isn’t just mine to tell, but it involves a _lot_ of exposure to the things that go bump in the night, and how to fight them when necessary,” she told them.

“Thing _s_ that go bump in the night? As in plural? As in more than just demons?” Jessica asked, voice the kind of calm that lives next door to complete hysteria.

Sam, Dean, and Dawn exchanged glances. Sam sighed. “Yeah,” he told her. “Pretty much every ghost or monster story you’ve ever heard has some basis in fact. Hunters are people who track them down and neutralize them. Dean and I were raised in the life because of what happened to our mom. Well, more like because of the way our dad reacted to what happened to her.” Dean looked furious at this, but he must’ve recognized that Sam wasn’t going to be stopped, so he didn’t interrupt. “I wanted out, wanted safe and as close to normal as I could get. I never thought . . . _god_ , Jess, I never thought something like this would happen. My whole childhood, we were always on the road, never the same town twice unless there was someone who knew what we really did and let us crash with them, so I knew the odds, I knew how low they were, and I always thought I’d see the warning signs before anyone got hurt if somehow there was something—though clearly I was wrong about that because I convinced myself the nightmares were just nightmares. I didn’t tell you because you would’ve thought I was nuts, and because I didn’t want you to have to know about the dark, evil corners of the world and of my life, the ones I never wanted to visit again. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He was looking at her, and his voice was pleading, but Dawn suspected that he was talking to his brother, too, begging for understanding from both of them, and once more she felt like the intruder.

Dean and Jessica were both looking at Sam as though seeing him for the first time. Dawn thought Dean looked angry, though she couldn’t have said whether it was at Sam or someone or something else, or maybe all of the above. Jessica looked like she finally understood, and the understanding was heartbreaking even though she was grateful to reach it at last. Dawn saw her take a deep breath, then reach out and lay her hand on Sam’s cheek.

“Of course, baby,” she whispered. “That makes sense, so of course I forgive you. I’ll still need time to process, and I have a lot of questions, but this,” she covered the room in a sweeping gesture with her other hand, “is _not your fault_ , OK?” Sam wasn’t meeting her eyes, so she reached her thumb under his chin and tugged his face up. “OK?” she repeated, more forcefully, and he nodded, looking at Jessica like she was a miracle. Which, Dawn knew from experience, she kind of was: the running and screaming reaction was pretty typical and totally understandable, but Jessica had clearly rejected that option. It suddenly occurred to Dawn that she had friends that were just hers _and_ with whom she could now share the other part of her life, the part with the magic and the monsters.

“I’d like to interrupt this chick-flick moment to ask what we’re going to do about the dead guy?” Dean broke in, shattering the moment. He made a good point, but that didn’t stop the other three from glaring at him.

“Wow, misogyny much?” Dawn accused, and Dean had the gall to look baffled. She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, we’re obviously going to call the professionals,” she told him, reaching for her phone.

“News flash, sweetheart, the professionals are already here,” he said smugly.

She rolled her eyes again. “Trust me, they’re really, really not,” she said, and made the call.

. . .

Buffy and Willow showed up a few hours later, by which point Dawn, Dean, Sam, and Jessica had asked and answered all the most salient questions of one another, and all the cookies Jessica had baked that evening had been consumed.

With Buffy and Willow’s help, they determined how and when to move and “find” Brady’s body, arranging matters so Sam would have the world’s best excuse for re-scheduling his law school interview. Dawn filled Buffy and Willow in on everything she’d learned about the Winchesters, because this smacked of demonic conspiracy, and that made it Slayer business.

Everything went smoothly, or as smoothly as could be expected given that Sam’s best friend was killed by a demon, a demon who tried to murder Jessica and was connected to Sam’s mother’s murder, and he had to pretend like he was as baffled as everyone else by how Brady turned up dead in an alley without a mark on him.

In the meantime, Giles and his information network—which, as it turned out, included a friend of Sam and Dean’s, a crotchety hunter named Bobby Singer who Dawn liked immensely for his no-nonsense attitude and excellent use of sarcasm—went to work on figuring out what the demon (or demons) were up to.

In the week leading up to the funeral, Sam and Jessica (understandably) spent most of their free time with the group of friends of which Brady had been a part. But, having gotten the OK from Buffy, Dawn told them that, whenever they had time, she had some things she wanted to tell them.

After Brady’s funeral, they had the time, and she told them about Buffy and Slayers and Watchers and being the Key. They were quiet for a while after she finished, and then Sam, staring at the floor, had confessed to feeling out-of-place for most of his life, feeling like a freak in a way not even the hunting life could explain. Then he’d looked up, looked Dawn straight in the eye (whenever he did that she always had to remind herself rather forcefully that he was with _Jessica_ , who was her _friend_ , and the two of them were _totally_ going to get married, because _damn_ ), and asked if she’d be willing to keep him apprised of what he needed to know about the investigation, no less but no more. Dawn understood completely, and promised that she would. Jessica shot her a grateful look, and they both turned their attention to reassuring Sam that, even if there was a supernatural explanation for why he felt different, for why he had those dreams, it didn’t make him a freak, and it definitely didn’t make him a bad person.

A few weeks went by. Sam aced his re-scheduled interview. Between research and the network, Giles was beginning to get a picture of what was going on. That was when John Winchester came out of the woodwork, showing up at Slayer headquarters and demanding that he be kept completely in the loop. Giles stalled him long enough for Sam, Jessica, Dean (who had been staying with them), and Dawn to arrive, and then the shit really hit the fan. By the time all three Winchesters had shouted themselves hoarse it was clear that John had known a lot more about what killed Mary than he let on, and had for several years—since before Sam left for Stanford.

Dawn had, so far, been going back and forth in her opinion of Dean, but when she saw the way he chose, clearly in spite of everything his jackass dad had raised him to do, to stand by Sam when faced with their father’s manipulations and lies, she landed on the side of him being a more or less good guy who was still learning to overcome a monumentally screwed-up upbringing.

It was Jessica who broke the tense, testosterone-heavy silence. “So, let me see if I understand this correctly,” she said to John in a soft, deadly voice. “Your excuse for raising your sons in a dangerous, terrifying, unhealthy environment was that it was the only way to keep them safe, yet at the same time you withheld information from them that would have increased their safety, both physically and emotionally. You didn’t want Sam to go away to college because of that information, but instead of sharing it with him so that he could make a fully-informed decision, you got into a huge fight and then cut ties with him when he made what you considered the wrong choice. Fast forward to a few weeks ago: you disappeared in such a way that Dean, who for reasons I admit I still don’t fully understand stuck by you, was worried enough to come get Sam, even though up to that point he’d pretty much been following your lead in not talking to Sam. You let them take off after you, worried that you might be dead when you were physically fine, and didn’t bother to leave them any indication that you really were all right. Then you somehow get wind of what happened with that demon, and you show up here and have the gall to want to be in charge of the whole operation from this point forward, and you expect everyone, not just Sam and Dean but everyone, to fall in line like good little soldiers. Did I leave anything out?”

Dawn thought that when John looked at Jessica as she finished her speech, as she stared him down with challenge glittering in her eyes, that it was the first time he was letting himself see her at all. Dawn wondered if Jessica’s similarities to Mary, who she’d seen pictures of, went beyond the physical.

“You don’t know a damn thing,” was all John said before making for the door, but Dawn and Willow closed ranks, blocking him. Dawn could feel the power building as Willow mentally prepared a spell for if John was dumb enough to try and force his way past them.

“What is this?” he snarled.

“You’ve made it clear that you have information that will help us understand what the demon was doing, which in turn will help us find it. You’re free to go, but not until you share with the class,” Giles informed him. “And before you call any of us any more unsavory names, perhaps you should let some people you claim to respect, people you claim are your friends, give you their opinion on your proper course of action.”

Giles had, apparently, had Bobby, Caleb (Dawn knew Giles bought weapons from him sometimes, and she suspected that he dealt in regular arms as well as mystical ones), a man called Pastor Jim, and two women, Ellen and Missouri, on a speaker-phone conference call for the majority of the shouting match, and none of them were impressed with John’s behavior.

Dawn watched the brothers’ faces as their dad’s friends laid into him. Sam looked especially shocked but also grateful to hear all of them but Bobby say that they hadn’t known it had been like that, that they couldn’t believe that was why John had cut Sam out (Bobby, apparently, _had_ known, and it was why he and John hadn’t spoken in years). Dean looked like he was being forced to re-evaluate his entire life. Which, Dawn reflected, he probably was. She almost felt sorry for him.

In the end, John agreed to give up the intel, but he also insisted on staying to help, because there was no way he was missing the run at the thing that killed his wife, the thing he’d been hunting for twenty-two years. Giles made it clear that that was fine, but only as long as John did what he was told. John swore a lot at that, but also agreed.

What John shared shook all of them: the demon visited children when they were exactly six months old and did something to them. Sometimes, and John thinks it’s when the demon was interrupted, there’s a fire and one or both of the parents die, but sometimes not. The demon keeps tabs on the kids as they grow up, and some time not too long after they turn 22, they start manifesting abilities. Sam, apparently, got prophetic dreams. John’s pretty sure the demon plans to get the kids to fight on hell’s side in some sort of up-coming battle, and that this is just the next move in a very long game, because this demon is old and _powerful_.

Sam left without a word, presumably to take a walk and clear his head. Dean and Jessica both turned to go after him, but Dawn pushed past both of them, locking eyes with Jessica, who, after a moment, nodded in comprehension. In cases like these, someone who’d been there and done that was probably going to be the best companion.

“So,” she said, running to catch up with Sam’s long strides, “welcome to the freak show.” He stopped, turning to stare at her incredulously. “What? That’s what you were thinking, right? And it’s not an entirely inaccurate description, even if it’s one I don’t think either of us much likes.”

He huffed something between a laugh and a sigh and started walking again, aiming for the park at the end of the block.

“So, your dad’s an asshole,” she ventured after a moment’s silence. This time the huff was definitely a laugh. “Also, to be clear, even though I know you want to be alone, I’m not leaving you alone right now.” They had reached the park, and Sam sank onto a bench. Dawn stood in front of him.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because when I found out I was the Key I sliced up my arms just to see if my blood looked as human as I remembered it being when I’d get normal cuts or scrapes,” she told him matter-of-factly, rolling up her sleeves to show him the scars. “I don’t know what the Sam Winchester version of that might be, but I’m not letting you do it.”

A faint smile flickered across his face. “You’re a good friend, Dawn.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s just . . . most of my life, it was human good, not-human bad. And now I find out that I’m kinda on the not-human side, and my dad’s _known_ that, and so, at least in his world, and probably Dean’s too, doesn’t that make me sorta bad? I mean I’ve never really subscribed to the ontological definition of evil, always thought what you did with what you had was more important, but maybe . . .”

“Maybe _nothing_ ,” Dawn interrupted firmly. “Look, there’s been a lot of monster-related drama in my life, and I can tell you for a _fact_ that it’s definitely about what you do with it. I mean, the best person I ever knew was a witch, and there’s a vampire whose name, I shit you not, is _Spike_ , who, when he’s on his game, is the cool older brother I never had in all the right ways. On the flip side, a normal human nearly killed Buffy because he was on a misogynistic power-trip, and there’s this other Slayer who went seriously dark side once upon a time, though she’s been back in a white hat for years now. Although, come to think of it, we found out a few years back that the Slayers’ power is demonic in origin, and I don’t know what that does to ontological theories of evil. Nope, never mind, I do: it proves that they’re bullshit.”

Sam was shaking his head and smiling at the ground. “Sam!” He looked up at her. “You’re like, almost literally the last person on earth who could be evil. Please believe that.”

“I want to, Dawn. I really, really want to.”

“Well, it’s a start, anyway.”

. . .

Dean and John stayed at headquarters, Sam and Jessica and Dawn went back to Stanford and were mostly successful in settling back into their school and work routines. Dawn kept her word and made sure Sam knew what he needed to know, no less and no more.

The three of them chose not to go when, just before finals, the time came to attack Azazel—they finally had a name for him. John had tried to force Dawn to put Sam on the phone, no doubt so he could pull a guilt trip, but Dawn knew full well that with two hunters, two Slayers (they’d called Faith in for this one), the world’s most powerful witch, and Giles, the demon didn’t stand a chance. Sam wanted out, Jessica had never been in, Dawn had always preferred the research to the fighting anyway, and finals were _important_. So they stayed, and were almost glad that, thanks to finals, it’s not like they would’ve been getting much sleep anyway.

Word came after they’d all three finished their last finals, and were just sitting in Sam and Jessica’s apartment. Well, Sam and Dawn were sitting; Jessica was baking. There was a knock on the door, and when Sam answered it, there they all were, looking a lot worse for wear, but alive.

“We got it,” John said, accepting Sam’s silent invitation to come in, followed by Dean. “He’s dead. Him and his cronies. It’s over.”

There was a profound silence. After all, Dawn reflected, what was there to say? She realized that she should probably leave and let the Winchesters do . . . whatever it was they needed to do. Probably have an existential crisis, at least in John and Dean’s case.

“OK,” she said, maybe a little too brightly. “Glad to hear the good news. I’m gonna go get my stuff and start Christmas vacation!” and made for the door, joining Buffy and the others, who were waiting to help her get her stuff and bring her home for Christmas.

. . .

Sam and Jessica called the next day to fill her in. She’d been basically right about the existential crisis, at least in Dean’s case. John had been baffled at the suggestion that he do anything other than find another hunt, and taken off, though Dawn found out later from Jessica that he’d done so without getting into a shouting match with Sam, so that was progress. Jessica had told Dean that he was welcome to join her and Sam at her parents’ place while he figured things out, and he’d actually taken her up on the offer.

Two weeks later, he’d landed a job at a garage and started looking for an apartment.

Sam and Jessica got engaged on New Year’s. When they called, they told her she was one of the first to know.

“So you’ll do it? I know it’s a little unconventional, but—“

“Sam! _Of course_ I’ll be one of your groomsmen. Will that make me a groomswoman? I’ll look it up,” Dawn told him, giddy with excitement for her friends and happiness that they wanted her in the wedding.

“Great!” She could hear the grin in his voice, and it warmed her right up. Hearing him so relaxed and joyful, she realized just how hard things had been for him while the hunt for the demon was going on. But it didn’t matter, because it was over now, and they were all getting on with their lives.

“Of course, you’ll have to be prepared to not be the best-looking one in a suit or tux, because I am going to _rock_ whichever one you put me in, so definitely keep that in mind,” she teased.

“I will,” he laughed. “And Dawn?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For everything.”

She smiled. “Any time.”


End file.
